


Buried a Second Time

by Black_Betty



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Devotion, Hades and Persephone, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Smut, True Love, but feelings got involved, this was meant to be funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:53:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1909941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Betty/pseuds/Black_Betty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles returns to the underworld for the first time since he ate the pomegranate seeds that pulled him back to Olympus. He is more than a little eager to see Erik again.</p><p>(aka Erik is Hades, Charles is Persephone, and it turns out that "Hell" is being separated from one another...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buried a Second Time

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally going to recast the gods as Marvel characters, but I got lazy (plus, the 11 year old in me really wanted to write Greek God fanfiction hahaha)...consequently I've only substituted Charles and Erik for Hades and Persephone. I hope to write more in this verse (maybe a prequel detailing how they originally met?) so I'm posting this here for posterity! My apologies if anything is historically or mythologically incorrect!! I've played it a little fast and loose with the original myth :D

Charles is king of the underworld and god of spring. He is worshiped as much for his power over life and death as he is for being as fair as Ganymede who was beloved of the gods, and more beautiful than the fragrant new bloom of Larkspur.

He is also extremely bored.

“Charles don’t pout,” Demeter murmurs, her broad face creased in a frown, “you’re meant to be overcome with joy.”

He sighs and pulls on a smile for her satisfaction, waits until she turns back to the tedious, eternal feast before allowing his blissful countenance to drop back into a mindless stupor. He aimlessly trails his hand through a puff of cloud, dangling his toes over the side of the mountain as he studies the world spread below him like a map.

Behind him at the feast the gods laugh as Artemis tells a bawdy joke at the expense of her brother, who, wounded, explores the fragmented nature of their relationship in a 27 stanza lyric poem, accompanying himself on the barbiton. 

Charles props his chin on his hands, achingly bored. Artemis sticks an arrow through the neck of Apollo’s instrument, slicing the strings in half and laughing as Apollo explodes into flames. Hermes begins running the odds on the ensuing fight, ignoring Poseidon’s usual wager of exotic Labrador trout as lightning explodes over the table, Zeus tossing bolts as he laughs drunkenly, naked and slumped down in his throne.

 _Six more months of this_ , Charles thinks.  _Only six more months_.

***

There is a chariot waiting for him in the field of Eleusis made of iron and trimmed in fragile black opal and pearl. There are no horses attached and yet the chariot seems to vibrate with a palpable energy as though drawn to its maker, yearning to return home. His mother makes a show of embracing him before he steps back, and he makes a show of mourning, a masquerade for the followers of his cult who weep and toss flowers before his feet as he steps into the vessel that means to take him away.

It lurches into motion and draws him forward into the gaping maw of the cavern soon to be sealed behind him. It will not open again for another six months, and he should be afraid, should tremble at the infinite darkness and the absence of sound and sweet air, but he only feels a quivering excitement in his breast. He clutches the front of the chariot and tries to remain calm. He is sure his smile manages to slice through the shadows.

He passes over the river Styx and through the black gates, sparing a comforting hand for Cerberus who is dozing and drooling and biting at him in turns. The new souls gathered on the riverbank crush toward him like a tidal wave before falling back, prostrating themselves before him when they become aware that he is neither alive nor dead, but eternal and everlasting. He can see the palace in the distance, gleaming silver in unnatural twilight, and remounts the chariot, eager to move onwards.

Erik is waiting for him in the throne room, regal and imposing and standing in between the twin thrones placed high on the dais above the gathered crowd. He looks as stern as always, but even from the distance Charles can see a gleam in his eyes, something excited and almost nervous in his expression meant entirely for Charles.

The demons and ghosts, the creatures of the abyss and pale and beautiful courtiers all drift backwards to make room for him below the dais where he stops and peers up at Erik, tilting his head haughtily and refusing to bow.

“Welcome back Charles,” Erik says, his voice resonating through the arched chamber. “I trust your time above was…pleasant?”

“You could say that.”

“Well,” Erik continues, walking slowly down the steps toward him. “We shall have to try our best to make you feel at home here, once again.”

“You could start with clearing out the room and fucking me on my throne,” he drops his head in a theatrical show of piety, “your majesty.”

Erik stumbles slightly, the elegant sweep of his cloak getting caught under his foot before he straightens and stares at Charles incredulously. There is beat and then Erik claps his hands, the room clearing as though his attendants are only mere fragments of thought and smoke. Perhaps they were. Charles stopped caring the moment Erik’s hands came together.

He is up the stairs in a leap and bound, meeting Erik halfway and hauling him down by the high collar of his cloak to meet him in a kiss. The first press of their lips is electric, Erik’s mouth cool and smooth like marble, his teeth sharp where they drag along Charles’ lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

“You,” Erik groans into his mouth, hands gripping into the front of Charles’ tunic and ripping the material open around the collar, “I forgot how damn impertinent you are.”

He drags his tongue up Charles’ throat before placing a heavy kiss on his pulse point where Charles’ heart is hammering away. Charles laughs and shoves at Erik’s shoulders, pushing him back up the stairs toward his throne.

“Admit it,” he pants, shoving him down into the tall iron seat, “you missed me.” He slides into Erik’s lap and kisses him, licking lewdly into his mouth, trailing vicious kisses across his cheek and jaw. He bites at Erik’s earlobe and feels him shudder beneath him, hands coming up to clutch at Charles’ hips while Charles’ own hands tear at the hem of Erik’s tunic, working until his fingers are clutching onto his muscular thighs.

“I missed you,” Charles breathes into his ear. It’s meant to be a tease, but it hits close to the true depth of his feelings, of the sorrow that came from being parted and once again achingly alone, cold and brittle despite the sun and sand and soil. All the things he had once loved that now paled in comparison to Erik.

In response to the shift in tone Erik’s hands gentle on his body, but that’s not what Charles wants or needs. He needs it rough and desperate. He needs to have Erik’s marks on his body, and to mark Erik in turn. To reaffirm himself in Erik; to be reborn in this place of death. His wandering hands brush Erik’s cock, and he grasps it firmly, watches Erik’s eyes flutter shut. Charles smirks.

“I certainly missed this,” he says while stroking upwards and rubbing his thumb over the head. Erik’s breath quickens and suddenly his hands are frantic again, shoving at the hem of Charles’ robe and getting it up over hips, palming his ass roughly and hauling him in close.

Wonder of the gods, Charles needs no preparation or restraint, only Erik shoving his cock up into his body, the two of them groaning loudly enough that it echoes through the chamber again and again, their pleasure trumpeted to the peak of each archway and back again. It’s only right that they should be surrounded in the riotous noise of their fucking, that Charles should feel Erik everywhere, inside him, outside, Erik’s hands gripping him by the hips, in his head, in his mouth, howling in his ears.

Charles thrusts his hips violently at first, wanting all of Erik and immediately, pinning his shoulders roughly back against the throne. They had crowned Charles in flowers before he left the world above and when Erik pulls him roughly forward to kiss him he tears them from Charles’ hair until the petals are scattered on their shoulders and across the ground.

The kiss slows them down, gentles them until they are moving languorously together, their mouths shifting in the same momentum as their bodies, unified and in sync. Sex with Erik is always a nearly spiritual experience, even at the very beginning when Charles detested him and they would fuck savagely, ripping each other apart with fingernails and words. Now, after so long away, it feels transcendent. Expansive and intimate at once, as though all the stars in all the constellations are concealed within a perfect shell that he can clasp between his palms.

Erik gets a hand around him and that’s all it takes before he is coming with a loud cry, Erik’s own orgasm following with the rhythmic clench of Charles’s body, the two of them clinging painfully to one another until the wrenching white heat eases and abates, and their hands are running soothingly over skin, Erik’s face pressed into Charles’ shoulder, hidden away.

“I did miss you,” Erik whispers, fingers melting bruises into the skin of Charles’ back. “I thought maybe…once you were free…”

“I am most free when I am with you,” Charles replies, fingers stroking a gentle pattern through Erik’s hair. “This is paradise. Not Elysium. Not Olympus.”

Erik kisses him again, unbearably tender, unbelievably tender for a god many assumed to have a heart of ice and stone, and veins of steel. Charles closes his eyes and with a thought has them transported to the bedroom and their velvet bed, where Erik has lit candles and allowed flowers to grow amidst the brimstone, and finally, finally Charles feels at home.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr--come visit me over there, if you like! 
> 
> black--betty.tumblr.com


End file.
